


Dawn of Justice

by Karl_Tanner



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karl_Tanner/pseuds/Karl_Tanner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei leads the Rebellion against the Mad King, but finds that her efforts go unrewarded.</p>
<p>Seventeen years later, she pursues what she could not have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Victory

**Cersei I**

A sea of soldiers stood between her and her target. Countless men in metal, brandishing and clanging swords. She plowed through them as fast as she could, butchering several men with her great sword whenever they so much as glanced in her direction. Bloody heads, hands, and fingers bounced off her steel as she pressed forward. Eventually, she found herself an exit in the form of a stream.

The sky had taken on the blood red of the Trident grounds, for the grass was drenched. She was confused; she found the stream devoid of any presence as if it were a resting spot from the clashes all around her. A man removed himself from the crowd of clashing soldiers ahead of her and stood in the creek. His plated armour, adorned with rubies depicting a three-headed dragon, was blacker than any other suit she had seen before. His helmet also took red-black, but had the wings of a dragon on each side of his head and a three-headed one on top. Anyone in the seven kingdoms, from an oyster merchant in Braavos to the person cutting their arse on the Iron Throne, would recognize this man as Rhaegar Targaryen.

 _This house and their damned fetish for three-headed dragons,_ Cersei thought to herself as she observed his black armour. She compared it to her own set of gilded steel, which had her house’s lion decorating the breasts and was painted over with Lannister gold. It was, in truth, a shameless copy of her brother’s suit. Female accommodations aside, the only original piece she added was a helmet.

“You could have left, but you returned to fall with your rebellion.” He referenced how she had fallen in the Battle of the Bells.

“No,” she made her slow approach, “I came back to rise with it.” She lowered her visor, and drew her great sword, which borrowed design cues from her armour. This was enough for a response on the battlefield. The two began to circle each other, blades pointed. Although they clashed for minutes, it seemed like hours to Cersei. For the longest time, no one had managed to get a clean hit, just clanging metal and swiping air. Neither the dragon, nor the lion had noticed the crowd of soldiers they had distracted. The battle seemed to go nowhere, swords clanging, dodging, and more circling.

He pushed back one of Cersei’s weaker blows, one simply meant to keep the pressure up, and managed to force her back. He knew he would never get this opportunity back as he watched her attempt to regain her footing. He swung at her face, the appendage closest him, and was rewarded with a sickening crunch. She did not cry out, but stumbled back, one hand on her face, while her blade nearly wriggled free of the other’s grasp. When she removed her hand, several soldiers backed away as blood dripped through the slits in her visor. She removed the steel liability and looked at what had become of it; Rhaegar’s blade had scrunched up the front, ruining it. Though she could not yet assess the damage, the notion of her face being scarred angered her as warm liquid ran down her mouth.

Cersei tossed the helmet into the creek, and lunged at Rhaegar. He assumed that he had won, as she was enraged, which meant holes in her defense. However, he did not know that a Lannister’s wrath, on or off of the battlefield, was deadly. They exchanged blows, resulting in more clanging and no injuries. She swung for head, but quickly closed in on his blade with all her might and successfully launched it out of the Targaryen’s hand. He whipped out a dagger with a ruby pommel from seemingly nowhere, and took aim at her exposed head. She swiftly stepped to the side, allowing for the blade to land in the bloody grass rather than her forehead. Realizing his plan had just failed miserably, Rhaegar spun around to reclaim his sword as quickly as possible, which left his back exposed to her. As Rhaegar had used his opportunity for an attack, she now used hers. As she loomed above him, she plunged her golden blade straight through his back. Much to her surprise, he cried out in pain.

Nearly everyone in their vicinity had stopped to look upon them. For a moment, it felt as if everyone in the seven kingdoms stopped to take in what she had just done. She leaned further down until she could breathe on the back of his helm.

“I loved you once.” She said coldly. He slowly and shakily turned his head in her direction to listen better. “I laid eyes on you for the first time at my father’s tourney when I was ten… and it began.” She leaned back and placed her foot on his back, ready to kick him off of her blade. “I lusted after you for years before when my father spoke of betrothal to you. Instead you took that Dornish whore, and even swept her aside for the Stark girl.” He received his death silently. She pressed her foot on the back of his armour, causing his body to gracefully slide off her blade and into the creek, decorating it with his blood. She stood there in silence for a moment, processing what she had just done. Though she no longer held any love for him, it felt strange and a tinge saddening to kill the fairy-tale knight she obsessed over as a child. She had no reason to feel this way. He had done nothing but ignore and look down upon her. He pushed himself up off the ground, somehow believing he could simply walk away. She marched forward once again, and opened his body from the neck to ensure he didn’t repeat himself. More ruby liquids flowed from his body and into the creek. She studied Rhaegar’s disembodied head, particularly the silver hair that poked out of the helmet, wondering when it would be her time to receive such a death.  She then met the reassuring gaze of her closest friend.

Ned Stark.

**Eddard I**

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw as he entered the throne room of the Red Keep. Mimicking Rhaegar’s defeat at the hands of Cersei, Aerys Targaryen was now on the cold floor in a pool of his own blood at the hands of Jaime Lannister.  Ned looked at him with pure shock and disgust. He had no love for the mad king, but Ned’s would never have stooped to the level that Jaime had just entered in his mind.

Jaime’s sister reacted with the exact opposite. She ran past Ned and pulled her twin brother into a tight embrace, giddily speaking of how she killed Rhaegar, and received showers of praise from him. It disappointed to see Cersei’s utter disregard for the dead king. She then excitedly turned to Ned, who stood at the far end of the room, and gestured for him to join them. He slowly walked over, taking in the sight of the iron throne. He had forgotten that the grotesque chair was even there in the first place. Cersei had told him that it was supposedly forged from over one thousand swords, despite it appearing much smaller than that. Aerys had intentionally crafted it to be uncomfortable and ugly because “A king should never sit easy”. That reasoning proved that he was truly a mad king.

Cersei, like an excited child, leapt onto the throne and slouched; it could not have been comfortable. As Ned approached, he stepped over the lifeless body of Aerys. His throat was also slit. The Kingslayer walked in front of him. His green-eyed, stone-cold stare quickly turned into a smile as he spoke.

“Lord Stark,” He began with a faint smile, “I just wanted to thank you for looking out for my sister,” the golden-haired Kingslayer put out his hand, “and for being a friend to her.” Ned said nothing, but for Cersei’s sake, shook his hand. He made for the throne room’s exit while looking back at Ned and Cersei “I’m off to see father.”

Ned turned to face his friend. The sight of her on the Iron Throne was unusual. Westeros had never seen a female on the throne, and Cersei contrasted heavily with it. The chair was often called an abhorrent sight, and it was no lie. The woman currently sitting on it was often called the loveliest woman in the seven kingdoms, and it was no lie. Her skin, sun-kissed and fair, was a radiant sight. Her golden hair was coveted by nearly every woman who had ever laid eyes on her. Ned viewed her a sister, but it was hard to continue viewing her as such as years passed, as he often found himself lusting after her. He sensed she did the same to him. His marriage to Catelyn Tully and Cersei’s obsession with battle, which he found a tinge off-putting, helped suppress his urges… for a time.

“Ned!” She called out to him, barely able to contain her excitement. She got up from the throne and gestured at it. “You mustn’t leave without the experience.” Ned sighed, smiled at her, and put himself on the throne. The stories were true; it would be no surprise to find his rear end bleeding after getting up. He planned to sit on it for a few seconds to get the “experience”, and then immediately remove himself. His plan backfired when Cersei promptly placed herself on his lap. The weight on his legs made him question whether or not she actually have him get something out of sitting on the throne.

“Ruling the seven kingdoms.” She whispered in his ear. “The idea sounds very appealing when you aren’t up here. But when you are, it appears a daunting task as it should.” She placed both of her small hands on his face, calluses scratching, and locked eyes with him. She now had a bandage over her nose where Rhaegar had struck her; she was lucky to have left the battlefield with only that. She pulled him into a graceful kiss, ignoring the red corpses, as if it was the next step of a master plan. He resisted, and pulled his face away. “Damn it, Ned.” She spat, averting her eyes.

He spent a moment searching for words. Cersei was a dear friend to him and that would never change. But he thought that the idea of taking her was wrongful. He tried not to hurt her, but soon realized that such efforts were futile. “I am married to Catelyn Tully.” Just as he had predicted, she sighed and shot him a look of despair.

“I know you do not want her. I sit on the Iron Throne now, and I have the power to make us happy.” She said, her emerald eyes full of hope.

It was true. He did fancy Cersei more than he ever did Catelyn, but there were other factors at play. Although his face did not convey it, he truly felt sorry for her before responding. “A few months ago, Catelyn bore a child,” He witnessed her expression change. “I pledged my honour to Riverrun when I married her. I cannot discard that, and leave her with my son, or take her son away from her. Not even for you.” He said, stroking a lock of her golden hair.

Tears started welling in her eyes as her voice began to waver from her usual, authoritative tone. “I fought beside you, I ate with you, I drank with you, I bled for you, and I would die for you. I dare not say it to any but you, I seized this throne so I could have you.” Now it was her turn to witness his expression change. She did not lie in the beginning; many of Ned’s happiest memories were with her, as she was always there for him. She did save his life in the heat of battle more times than he could count, sometimes at the cost of her own fair skin. He was truly unsure about whether or not she was truthful about her cause.

He prepared his response, but she shushed him and resumed their kiss. This time, Ned did not even attempt to break free. Battles made a man tired, and the company of a woman could only make things better. They got up from the Iron Throne, and frantically searched the Red Keep for an empty solar, paying no mind to the wandering soldiers and workers giving them queer looks. They found a vacant solar, entered, and locked the door. Almost instinctively, they ripped off each other’s armour, and tossed it into a corner. Her naked body stood before him. He had seen it before, but under different circumstances. Muscle clashed with her graceful figure. The storm of scars clashed with her fair skin. Unlike the throne, her body seemed more akin to the product of over one thousand swords. None of it mattered to Ned.

 _I can at least give her this before I_ leave. They leapt onto the bed, kissing, as Ned cupped a breast, and reached between her legs. Loud moans escaped her mouth as sweat glistened from their naked bodies. Cersei mounted him, and placed both hands on his body. She rode him for what seemed like hours, not a care in the world, both of them hoping the moment would never end.

**Jon I**

He envied his brother now more than ever. His half-siblings, Robb, Arya, Bran, Sansa, and little Rickon, all stood beside their father and Lady Stark. Robb would get to meet King Robert and Queen Cersei, legendary warriors of the Trident that fought alongside his father, who spoke very highly of them. More times than they were willing to admit, he had told the two brothers the story of how Cersei Lannister, clad in a golden suit of gilded steel, sliced Rhaegar Targaryen’s head off. As well as the story of how they, with the help of Howland Reed, defeated Ser Arthur Dayne. As a child, Jon had developed an obsession with her. When he was around eight years old, he had drawn a picture of him and Cersei, back to back, battling a crowd of warriors. Robb discovered it and questioned who it was, but Jon merely passed it off as Father and Cersei in the Battle of the Trident

He watched his family from the back with hateful thoughts about Lady Stark, who had commanded Ned to remove Jon from the front row and place him in the back. She had always ruined things for him, and none of his siblings or even his father could object. He wondered what she would even gain from this, as the Warden of the North fathering a bastard would become common knowledge. They already knew of him, so why hide him? The woman appeared a joy in the presence of her husband and children, but his presence turned her heart to stone.

No doubt that the feasts would be any different. The Starks and Royal family would dine at the head table, laughing, having a grand time creating memories while he would sit by the entrance, attempting to drink his sorrow away. At least he would catch a glimpse of his heroes.

King Robert, Queen Cersei, and Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard led the unnecessarily-large Lannister herd through the ancient gates of Winterfell. Knights, servants, foot soldiers, a wheelhouse, and several other men on horses emerged shortly after them. Although he had never seen the man, he instantly recognized Sandor Clegane as the Hound. His terrible burns would give that away to anyone.

Cersei Baratheon perfectly mirrored the mental image he constructed from Ned’s words. Tall, beautiful, golden hair, emerald eyes, and near-perfect hourglass figure. Her face, strong, and proud. Jon had seen several noble ladies on their visits to Winterfell, some incredibly beautiful, and some comparable to a Thenn. However, the Queen was, without a doubt in his mind, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, despite her age. She wore a thick cloak, lined with several furs. Jon was never allowed to speak to noble ladies, but he would fetch and clean their cloaks. Robb, however, would spend evenings serenading them with stories of his and Jon’s valor, which served as means of leading them into his chambers late into the night. Despite Robb taking several betrothed to his bed, Cersei was married to the King. Jon doubted that Cersei would be following Robb, or any other man for that matter… or so he thought until he laid eyes on her legendary husband.

Robert did not look anything like the picture that Ned had painted in his mind. He pictured the man at the Trident to be a huge, muscular man with stern face. He was certainly huge, but he appeared to have traded all of his muscle for fat, and he may have received a surplus. His long hair and overgrown beard did not help his appearance. Had it not been for the golden crown adorning his head, Jon would have mistaken him for any fat, old lout. Cersei’s brother, Jaime Lannister, looked more like a true hero. He had the face of an honorable fairy-tale hero with long, golden hair; more or less the type of man that Sansa would be swooning over. Ned spoke of him with disgust and never referred to him by name, only as Kingslayer. The king approached Ned first, and everyone who stood out to greet the royal family knelt. As Jon knelt, he remembered Lady Stark yelling instructions at him on how to act.

“You will kneel whenever approached by a member of the family. You will do whatever they ask of you, if they do ask something of you, for whatever reason. And you will not spoil this for the rest of us!” She yelled in Jon’s face, as his eyes were focused on his shoes. “Do I make myself clear?” She said with a slight tilt of the head.

Jon slowly rose his to meet her eyes. He wanted to sarcastically reply with: “Yes, your grace.” He used this response when he was ten and twelve, which resulted in her hand leaving a red badge of honor on his face, and him spending the evening crying in the broken tower until his father convinced him to come down. Instead, he simply nodded, and everyone assumed their positions.

“Rise.” Robert’s voice boomed as he took his place in front of Ned Stark. Jon could tell that nearly everyone was frozen with fear, as if they had forgotten some crucial component of greeting the king. Bread and salt perhaps? The king had the expression of a man about to execute one of his disloyal subjects, like his father had done earlier this morning. He glared at Ned for what seemed like an eternity before roaring laughter and bringing him into bear hug; Jon half expected to hear a crunch. They exchanged pleasantries for a moment, no doubt speaking of how much time has passed since their last encounter and how much weight they’ve both gained. Robert then moved on to the rest of Ned’s family, and Cersei immediately took her husband’s place with Ned. Pulling him into an elegant embrace, and then into a short kiss; Jon was now envying his father instead of his brother, as he imagined Catelyn envying the Queen. She held his hands, and had an inaudible conversation while occasionally sharing a laugh. Ned looked far happier with Cersei than he did with Robert, understandably so from any man’s perspective. Everything about Cersei looked to be noble and professional, whereas Robert reeked of the opposite. She repeated after Robert and introduced herself to the rest of the family. She seemed to approve of them all, save for Arya, which didn’t surprise Jon in the slightest. Prince Joffrey Baratheon said nothing, but was fixated on Sansa. His entire demeanor was incredibly smug, and Jon felt that they would clash at some point.

Ned and Robert immediately shuffled away in the direction of the crypts. The crowd spontaneously dispersed; Jon headed for the great hall, to help prepare for the feast, as Lady Stark commanded. He felt a hand on his soldier, and turned his head to see his brother’s smug face. “I’ve met Cersei Baratheon.”

“I thought you would prefer the company of Robert instead.” Robb ruffled his hair as the two Starks shared a laugh. “Damn you, Robb. You’ve no idea how much I want to be you right now,” Robb glanced away, fully aware that his brother was serious. “I wish I could join you at the feast.” Jon enjoyed Ned’s retelling of the battle of the Trident, but to hear it from the mouth of the warrior who killed Rhaegar herself would be far better. He briefly fantasized about breaking bread with the Queen, laughing with her, as she recounted her epic tales of war with Ned before Robb’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Well, you could speak with her another time.” Jon looked at Robb quizzically. “When she is alone you could approach her, and ask about… whatever you wanted.”

“Lady Stark, forbid me from approaching any of the guests.”

Robb laughed. “Don’t do it when mother’s around. Just go to her, and introduce yourself. She loves our father like a brother, I’m sure she won’t mind you. I heard her say to him that she wanted to get to know all of his children, and I would imagine that list includes you.” He put his arm around Jon and pulled them together, making their trek to the main hall a struggle. “You’re still a Stark, Jon. Never forget that, despite what mother says.”

He smiled at Robb and removed himself from his brother’s grasp. “I’ll try it if I grow the balls. Anyway, I’ve got to help prepare for the feast.” The brothers nodded, and parted ways. Their entire exchange was lovely sight for the Queen.


	2. Injustice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events don't exactly happen at the same time as they did in the show/book. I wrote it this way in an effort to make this seem less... tedious.

**Cersei II**

Much of the conversation at the head table that night was dominated by Cersei, who proudly recited her tales of warfare and heroism to Robb. Leading armies seemed to fascinate the boy to no end. Catelyn would occasionally hijack the discussion, asking Cersei to prattle on about the roles and expectations of noble ladies, in the hopes that Sansa would listen. She indulged, suppressing her true opinions of the empty-headed women of courts. Acting in such a way was a masking of her true self, and it annoyed her. She was hardened warrior with the tongue of a brigand, who only felt truly alive on the battlefield or in bed, not some bird engineered to recite the same pleasantries to everyone she met. It was painfully obvious with every word out of her mouth that Sansa had started down this path. Cersei did not know whether to feel annoyed or remorseful.

A young man with dark curls caught her attention as he stormed out of the hall, damn near taking down the wooden doors as he made his triumphant exit. She had seen him before, with Robb Stark, and safely assumed him to be the bastard of Winterfell. He seemed to go unnoticed by all but her and the commoners at the front of the hall. Robert, of course, did not have the time to notice, as he was preoccupied with some kitchen wench in the center of a loud, northerman crowd. She grimaced at him, knowing it would do nothing, but it was all she could do to him. Robert seemed to fit in quite well with the Northern men; he had natural talent for getting drunk, devouring food like a savage, and being generally obnoxious. She wondered how he could live with himself after doing such things in front of Myrcella and Tommen.

“Is this your first time in the North, your grace?” Asked Catelyn Stark, attempting to break the uneasy silence. She had also witnessed the king’s shameless debauchery.

“Yes, lovely country,” Said Cersei, without even the slightest change in expression, tone, or anything really. “Pardons,” She murmured as she rose from her seat, not wanting to draw attention. That backfired immediately as all at the head table and even Jaime, who stood off to the side, turned their heads in her direction. Ned reached for her hand as he hovered from his Lord’s seat. “I need only feel the cold air for a moment. I will return shortly.”

He slumped back down, the two exchanged weak smiles, and then she made for the exit. She repeated the exact same interaction with Jaime, which she felt that the whole table had noted. Ahead of her, Joffrey continued to enamor Sansa and all of the other children with some tale of his fake heroism. Walking through the hall would not have been so uncomfortable, had it not been for Robert displaying his affection for his kitchen wench so openly. She had strode past common rabble more times than she could count, but they could all sense her discomfort and embarrassment, and made that known with their piercing stares. Some even had the good grace to make it known with their laughter.

She was met with a welcome breeze upon opening the doors, and immediately shut them to trap the horrors within. It didn’t take long to find the boy, but she was not pleased with the circumstances of his discovery. He was speaking to her dwarf brother Tyrion. As she slowly approached the boy, his back turned to her, she found herself still searching for a valid reason for pursuing him… or a reason she could admit. She attempted to craft a justification, as one would obviously be required of her upon reentry to the hall. She came up with a few, each less flimsy than the last. _I fear my vile creature of a brother has indoctrinated him with some nonsense about tits and wine. I was simply strolling about before I saw him. His outburst troubled me. He is Ned’s son, is he not?  He bears a resemblance to Ned in his younger days. He has the hard face of a northerner. His black curls are beautiful, nothing like the men of King’s Landing. He is the-_

Her thoughts shattered when she heard the voice she hated more than anything. “Ah, the lioness has come,” The boy spun around instantaneously. “For what, I wonder. To devour a wolf?” He fell to his feet the moment he met her emerald eyes.

“Away with you, Imp.” Cersei’s voice bled with pure vitriol.

“The Queen has spoken.” He said gleefully, as he made his departure. She would never understand what Jaime saw in the waste of skin that was now proudly waddling away from her, gripping wineskin its tiny hand.

She had almost forgotten about the boy dressed in black, boiled leather at her feet. “You may rise.”

“Your grace.” The words made their way out of his mouth more predictably than a whore out of Robert’s chambers in the morrow. He was, without a doubt in her mind, the one she came for. He had the icy face and dark hair of a Stark. Robb took after his Tully mother, but this one was definitely more in touch with his father’s side. His eyes painted a picture of innocence, unlike Cersei’s, which had painted pictures of anything but innocence. He reminded her of Ned during the rebellion. Memories of their love came flooding back to her. She felt her heart making escape attempts as she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came for a moment. _Seven hells, Cersei, what are you doing?_

“You are…?”

“Jon Snow.” He replied, looking away. Clearly, someone had told him he was unworthy of receiving such a lady… and in most cases, they were right. She felt a mix of emotions, seeing him after all these years. She did not dare to reveal the circumstances of his birth to him; that was a right reserved for Ned Stark.

“You are Ned Stark’s son?” She already knew the answer. Everyone knew of Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard. His face gave away who he was, but she would not reveal it.

“Yes, your grace.”

“What brings you out here, away from the festivities and your family?” She already knew the answer to that as well.

“I had a… disagreement with my uncle,” he was clearly struggling to find the words, “and Lady Stark did not want to sully the head tables with the presence of a bastard, your grace.”

“Stop calling me that.” She snapped. He looked like a frightened deer as those words came from her mouth. “Cersei will do.” She said with a lighter tone. He nodded, and the two stood in silence for a moment. She finally reached her arm out with an almost maternal warmth, and took a step forward. “Walk with me?” He reluctantly approached, and linked arms with her. They slowly made their way around the snowy keep that was Winterfell, hoping they would not be caught by the Imp. Surely he would jump to a dangerous conclusion after witnessing the Queen gripping the arm of Lord Stark’s bastard. She wanted to inquire what Tyrion had said to him, but immediately discarded that idea, as the thought of her brother’s filth coming out of such a handsome face disgusted her. As a nice change of pace, Jon broke the silence. “Why’d you come for me?”

_I helped birth you many moons ago._  “You are the son of my dearest friend, bastard or not. And I do recall wanting to acquaint myself with all of his children.” He lit up like a lost dog that had just found its owner. “Come, join us in the hall, at the head table. Your brother and I have already become fast friends.”

“Lady Stark would object.” He immediately responded as if he had practiced for the subject.

“Lady Stark’s objections mean nothing to me.” Bragged Cersei. She felt joy in denouncing Catelyn Stark, as she had always wanted to hate the Tully, but had no reason besides being with the man she once loved and giving him five children. Now she had a reason: treating this boy with such hate for events that were simply out of his hands.

As they reached the doors of the hall, Jon spoke again, this time with admiration. “My father told us stories about you. You were our hero growing up. The golden knight who sliced Rhaegar’s head off.”

She looked to the snow before dignifying him with a response. “You liked that story, I take it?”

“All but the ending.” Answered Jon.

“Were you hoping for the Targaryens to win?” She inquired, unable to hold back a troubled laugh.

“No, it just… doesn’t have the happy ending we wanted. You killed Rhaegar, the bastard who raped my aunt. You also led the sack on the Red Keep, and even sat on the Iron Throne. But you didn’t get it, Robert did.” Replied Jon without the fervor of his prior gushing.

She sighed, and found herself sympathizing with Catelyn Stark for a moment, taking back a fragment of what she said mere moments ago. Jon Snow was a constant reminder to her that Ned went off and supposedly fucked another woman. Robert was a constant reminder to Cersei that, despite all of her blood, sweat, and tears, she was denied the Iron Throne for arbitrary reasons… and it was nothing short of infuriating. “If you go on thinking stories like that will have a happy ending, you aren’t paying attention.” She quipped with an empty smirk, not really knowing where those words came from.

“I think you deserved the throne.”

“Some say I would’ve corrupted soon after coronation and that it was for the best I remained off of it. You have my thanks,” She held both of his hands, “that’s very kind. “ They shared a stare before Cersei quickly changed the subject. “Come, let us return to our families.”

The pair raised many eyebrows as the reentered, the Queen clutching the arm of a bastard was somehow enough to pull the northerners away from their ale. To be fair, it was an extremely bizarre sight. Robert, however, was still wholly engrossed with his newfound friend, and paid no attention to them. Those at the head tables looked at them with the confusion they had expected. Robb, Arya, and Ned after a few seconds, let their happiness show. Catelyn was mortified, maintaining the same, cold stare she always wore. Her lack of love for Jon was made obvious, now more than ever.

They had arrived just in time to catch the end of Joffrey’s heroic lie about how he slayed a boar on his own. He and Sansa, who had just appeared as if they were in a world of their own, both looked at Cersei and then Jon with the same befuddled motion. Surprisingly, Joffrey was the first to speak of Jon’s presence. “Why’ve you brought this one here, mother?” Before she could even open her mouth, he spoke again. “He’s a bastard.” Joffrey pointed out with an icy glare in Jon’s direction. He had already developed a hatred for Snow, seeing as how the bastard already bested the prince in two duels.

She turned to assess the damage of that creative insult. Surely the boy had gotten used to it, as Joffrey’s words didn’t seem to affect him at all. She was proud of him for it. The bastard said nothing to the prince, which was wise. “He’s Lord Stark’s son, and you would do well to remember that, Joff.” She impressed with how convincingly she could say that now. He said nothing, and his gaze wandered off to Robert’s activities. Cersei went back to her seat beside Ned, and Jon brought an unused chair beside Robb. “Now before I left, I was to tell the tale of how I unhorsed Ser Meryn at a joust.”

She went on for an hour or so, consuming more wine, and humoring both tables with all of the embarrassing little details of the knights of King’s Landing. After a few glasses of wine, the boys had managed to coax her into training them. When she approved, they looked at each other as if it were the first time someone had ever said those words to them. “I’ll not go easy on you. Be ready in the early hours of the morrow, and I shall come to you. Fail to prepare yourself, and you may end up like Rhaegar.” She jested. The boys roared with laughter after hearing that. Cersei wished she could join them, but her words only wounded her.

**Jon II**

It was odd to see the Queen dressed as if she were a boy learning to fight. Winterfell’s armory held no armours designed for women, which resulted in Cersei donning the same boiled leather tunic that he and Robb often wore. The purple gown she had worn the previous night or a suit of gold seemed more appropriate for someone of her appearance and status. She stood in the mud with them, her golden hair gracefully braided over her shoulder by Sansa.

“I’ll need to gauge the two of you,” he said as she scanned Robb’s stature, “why don’t both of you try to attack me.”

“Are you sure, my queen?” doubted Robb.

“Very,” she boasted, “you may begin. “

Jon and Robb charged in her direction with all of their might, vigorously slashing away at Cersei’s wooden sword and the air that surrounded her. She received and defended against all of their blows with a finesse that was foreign to the boys. The constant clacking of wooden swords continued until the boys were exhausted to the point where they could barely lift them. They stood there, wobbling with bruises for a moment before putting the practice sticks away.

“Most people would’ve died trying to defend themselves from that.” Cersei rasped. She spun around to meet the Hound’s frightening gaze. She truly had him trained like a dog, as he immediately tossed her a skin of what Jon assumed to be water. She removed the cap, and slowly gulped the fluids before continuing. “But I’m better than most people. I would’ve knocked you both on your arses had I not been forgiving about all of this mud.” Everyone in the training ground clearly noted her unusual vocabulary choice. Ever since she had donned her queer combat garb, her speech was much less… proper, for a lady.

She handed the skin to Jon. The tip of the flagon found its way to his mouth almost instantaneously. It was not water, but wine. Jon silently thanked her as he placed it in Robb’s hands. Predictably, he did the same exact thing.

The three took a break from clashing on the benches, as Cersei mentored them. “You maintain the aggressive well enough, but you don’t utilize any other mode. If you don’t learn proper defense, you’ll find yourself in an embarrassing death.”

“You’ve got experience finding yourself in these situations?” Teased Robb.

“In giving out such deaths, yes.” Answered Cersei, as she consumed more wine. The way in which she drank was almost clockwork.

Robb left them to prepare for the hunt, which Jon had not been invited to. All but the Hound, also made their exits, leaving a Queen and bastard alone on the bench. He wanted to speak to her, but couldn’t think of a topic to save his life. His hopeless mess of thoughts shattered as Cersei began instead. “So what’s your plan, Lord Snow?” she asked with another sip. It was not often that he was referred to as _Lord_. He liked the title and how it sounded with his name.

He was about inquire what she meant, before realizing it himself. Robb was to inherit Winterfell, and become Warden of the North after father died. Assuming such responsibilities seemed a daunting task, but he felt that Robb would have no trouble, being a natural leader. Bran and Rickon would become his Bannermen. Sansa and Arya would become noble ladies, and marry men from other houses, securing more power for the north. He had overheard discussions of Sansa getting married off to Joffrey and how thrilled she was at the proposition, but the thought saddened him. Sansa had not treated him like his other siblings, only acknowledging him as her half-brother, but even he would not wish such an atrocity on her. However, the thought of Arya in a wedding dress, being wed made him want to laugh. Theon Greyjoy would continue to serve the Starks until his death. All of the Stark children, and even their Ironborn ward, had their roles, so where did that leave him? The question depressed him at first, as he once again had to accept that he would never be Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell. But the question excited him once again, as his answer would, no doubt, impress the Queen.

“I’ll be riding north with my Uncle at the same time you leave for King’s Landing,” he began proudly, “to join the Night’s Watch!”

He expected her face to light up, but her brow furrowed, and she looked at him as if he had proudly announced his own death. “Why would a handsome young man like you who can fight worth a shit, and is the son of the Warden of the North so gleefully exile himself to the Night’s Watch?” Before he could even think of a counter argument, she continued, “The Night’s Watch is a band of murderers, rapers, thieves, and other criminals who are put to use by defending the wall from Wildlings and myths. The world no longer has need of them, so they are sent to live and die a life of little importance on the walls surrounded by dilapidated castles. They take no wife, father no children, and for what reason? No one remembers them, and what they do is of little consequence to anything. You don’t belong there.”

Jon didn’t know if she was telling the truth about the people of the Watch. Perhaps she was, but it seemed more like she wanted to prevent him from embarking to the Wall. He had always made the Night’s Watch out to be a team of elite warriors protecting the realm from the wildlings, the giants, and several other mythical creatures. When his thoughts were not of Jon Stark, he dreamed of becoming a hero of the Watch. “What other choice do I have?” He grumbled. He was a bastard after all.

He knew he had stumped her there, as he was met with silence for a moment. “You could die on the wall and be forgotten… or you could come to King’s Landing with me and rise.” It was the last thing he expected her to say. She pushed her braid behind her, inched closer to Jon, and leaned towards him as if she were about to kiss him. Even without all of her queenly extravagance, she was still the most a truly beautiful woman.

“But, what would I do there?” He asked. Surely finding a role would be the least of his issues. His bastard status was likely to bring several other hurdles his way.

“Can you read?” she asked.

“Yes. My father taught me.”

“Be thankful for that.” She hunched, and said nothing for a time. As she was deep in thought, Jon wondered what job he could possibly be given that would require reading.

“You could squire.” She took note of his expression as she made her suggestion, and he made it known that he did not think highly of squiring. Polishing boots, cleaning weapons, fetching armour for someone so that they may proceed into battle. _Oh, yes. Tons of reading._ He would rather be the one with a squire to make all of those preparations for him. “I know it’s not what you’d want. But being a bastard, you would be extremely privileged to serve a knight in King’s Landing. And you would not be squiring forever.”

“And who would I be squiring for?” he asked, now seriously considering her offer. Squiring for someone like Barristan Selmy might make the experience tolerable. The man was a legendary fighter, maybe even better than Cersei herself.

“I cannot say as of right now, but I can guarantee you a position under a good warrior. My optimal choice would be Ser Sandor Clegane.”

He was taken aback by her choice, and imagined what it would be like to serve such a man. _He’d butcher me with that great sword of his if I so much as left a speck of dirt on his armour._ The Hound did not strike him as an honourable figure. He had the appearance and demeanor of a brigand given a suit of armour. Cersei noticed his disapproval of her candidate, and attempted to mend it. She put an arm on his shoulder, and leaned in even closer than before. “I know that he’s a frightening man,” she looked back at the Hound as he merely stood beside a sword rack in silence. “but he is a dear friend of mine. I’d trust him with my life and the lives of my children. He is loyal.”

_Perhaps he is loyal… to the Lannisters, but to the Starks?_ Jon bit his lip, and looked at the towering figure he would have to serve. His armour was grey, heavy, and looked as if it could stop a storm of arrows. Sandor’s face was quite possibly one of the ugliest he had ever seen. Half of it was horribly scarred and disfigured from severe burns, while the other half was just naturally ugly. What remained of his hair, dark and withered, was swept to his good side. He seemed to be in a world of his own, and Jon prayed that he was there when she was close to him. He looked back at the Queen’s emerald eyes. “I’ll consider it.” Part of him did want to accompany his family to King’s Landing and truly attempt to move up in rank, but part of him also merely wanted to appease Cersei. It was strange; she had managed to put him under her spell with extremely minimal effort. _Must not be uncommon_ , he thought. He would have to tread carefully.

She stood up and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up. She was far stronger than him, so he practically flew to her. She smiled at him and made a proposition that intrigued Jon. “I’ve got something that can convince you now.” She pointed at something off in the distance behind him. Jon turned to see that she had taken interest in the broken tower, which earned that name from being… broken.  “Go up to there now, and I’ll come to you shortly.”

Jon did as he was commanded, and scurried up to the broken tower. A large portion of the wall was gone, and brought the cold breeze inside. When he was younger, to come up to this floor and gaze upon Winterfell, taking in every component of the castle. Soldiers training, stable boys tending, as well as the important lords and ladies constantly running back and forth. Arya could usually be found playing in the mud with a practice sword. He scanned the area for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Probably off on some adventure with the butcher’s boy, who was always reluctant to join her.

He then scanned the area for Cersei while wondering why she summoned him to the tower. Spotting her would not have been a challenge, as there was no one in Winterfell with golden hair like hers. He pondered where she was and what she was doing. It was unlikely she was with the King, as he could tell that theirs was a loveless relationship. His thoughts were interrupted by the door to his left creaking open. Jon leapt up like a cat, and saw the woman he sought after. Unlike him, she had exchanged her grimy leather for a simple blue gown. She had discarded Sansa’s braiding and simply let her hair reach down below her shoulders. She had taken a simple look, much less extravagant than what she wore upon entry of Winterfell, but Jon still found her to be radiant. _But why Radiant?_ He pondered.

She flashed a smile as her hand slowly pushed the door back into place. He watched her take in the riveting sight of an old room in a broken tower that no one ever visited. She sighed and focused her gaze on a dusty rug. “I hoped it would not look so bad.” She murmured.

“What were you planning on doing here?” He asked with genuine intrigue

She rolled out the rug away from the massive hole in the wall, and attempted to dust it off. She lowered herself onto the rug, and gestured for Jon to do the same. Once he did, she touched his shoulder like she did before. She struggled to find the words, and bit her lip before finally enlightening him. “Have you ever lain with a woman, Jon?”

Jon felt quite naïve for not picking up on her true motive until now. “No.” he replied, soaking with embarrassment. He wondered why it was him of all people. He wondered if she had an end goal of some sort. He spied her again, and saw the longing in her face. As if she had immediately picked up on that, Cersei immediately pulled his head to hers, and stuck her tongue down his mouth. These actions were foreign to him, as most of his interactions with women were with his sisters and supposed mother. Part of him wanted to stop, for his sake and hers. The king would surely see that both of their heads decorate his castle if he stumbled upon on them in the act. She would be scorned by everyone, not just the king, if someone found out. He felt strange for being a part of bringing her to her lowest. She brought him into a dangerous game, but he found himself in no position to decline her, and his resistance left him. She was not only fair in terms of appearance, but as a person, she was good to him. He pushed away the thoughts of possibly being used as his hands found their way to the soft skin of her face.

Her gown practically slid off, while Jon certainly took his time with the leather. Cersei looked as if she had done this many times before. The lioness and the wolf looked at the naked body of the other with admiration. Cersei’s body separated her from Jon as a hardened warrior. He gazed upon the scars that plagued her sides. It may have disgusted any other man, but her marks of war only made him lust after her more. She wrapped herself around him and whispered in his ear “Take me.”

And so he did, for what seemed like hours. He glanced up from Cersei’s backside to the gaping hole in the wall and took note of it still being bright out. They laid on the rug, curled up in each other, panting as sweat dripped from various appendages. She climbed on top of him, and whispered. “You lied,” She confused him, but that did not last when she spoke again. “About having never lain with a woman.”

He sat up and laughed, her hands still on his chest. “I was serious!”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you take me for an idiot, Jon snow? Girls at King’s Landing would claw each other’s eyes out for curls like these.” She chuckled, and played with a strand of his dark hair. “Bastard or not, you could form an army out of the girls who’d want to be bedded by you.”

Jon laughed again, and gripped a perfectly-shaped breast. “Fancy another?” She did not even grace him with a reply before pouncing on him. The pair continued, Jon taking her from behind yet again; they both seemed to like that one. The possibility of getting caught entered his mind once or twice, but never lingered. No one ever came to the broken tower, and anyone who did was out hunting; the timing could not have been more opportune. He began to thrust harder, but it did not seem to affect the Queen. Her moans were still short and quiet; she was skilled in the art of secret sex, and apparently so was he. Or he would be, had he not felt as if he were being watched.

Jon’s suspicions were confirmed as he looked up yet again from Cersei’s back to see the pale blue sky. In front of it was his younger brother, Bran, clutching vines and loose stones. He was mortified for a moment, until feeling that he could trust Bran with this secret, as Bran had held many for him over the years. The moans stopped as Cersei averted her gaze from the floor to Bran. She shrieked, and pushed herself off Jon’s cock, which she seemed to be greatly enjoying until seeing the child. Bran was frightened, and attempted to shift away. Jon needed to speak to him before anyone else. He shouted Bran’s name, slightly more aggressive than he had intended. The boy of ten was unprepared for it, and lost his grip. Jon ran to the edge of the grimy, wooden floor and saw what had become of Bran Stark. He laid on the grass, lifeless, his legs extended outward in a queer and sickening position. Jon dashed back to the other side of the chamber and speedily reequipped himself, while Cersei did the same albeit slower.

“You must not go to him.” She said as Jon gripped the door handle.

“And if he dies?”

“We would be put at risk. You played no part in his fall, but others will suspect as much if you immediately rush to his aid. Catelyn Stark certainly will.” He paused and considered the possibility. He had friends who would surely defend him. However, there were others who hated him, and he did not find it unlikely that they would attempt to use this against him. “If she heard of you being the first to respond to him, she will not rest until you are either exiled or dead. It should not be long until another finds him. Should they inquire why we found him here, what will we present as reasoning for visiting this horrible tower? Should he wake, he will ruin us if you are not the first to speak to him. We must not involve ourselves in this until forced to. If he does die, why join him?” She held his face up to hers. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. She spoke harshly, but truthfully. Had Catelyn even slightly suspected his involvement in Bran’s fall, she would do everything in her power to destroy him. Sansa would probably agree with her and spread nasty rumors about him. Theon Greyjoy would likely fabricate a story proving Jon’s guilt to improve his standing with Catelyn, as she did not look upon him positively either. “We must use the other exit. Bit of a drop, but it will guarantee we remain undetected.”

 

**Eddard II**

Robert’s hunt was miserable. They found nothing, as the king prattled on of various techniques for killing wild boars. Theon Greyjoy praised every word out of the king’s mouth while Robb seemed rather indifferent about the whole affair. He could not tell if the Ironborn was being genuine or not. Regardless, he would find no trouble blending in with Robert’s own men, who were apparently unable to support a conversation that did not include death or tits.

They made camp when the light had left. Ned urged for them to head back to Winterfell, but Robert was tired and would hear none of it. He considered riding there himself in the night, as it was merely a three-hour trek from where they had set up camp. He discarded that possibility when he decided that he was not so cruel as to leave Robb with such company. He seated himself alone at a bench with a plate of assorted fruits and cheese. Robb and Theon’s laughter caught his attention long enough for Robert to somehow seat himself on the very same bench undetected. He was spotted sliding Ned’s plate over to himself. _At least the oaf has chosen something he should be eating,_ Ned thought as he watched Robert stuff his face. He could not fathom how this man could still fit into armour.

He could not feel any negativity towards Robert once he started to talk. He suggested the two of them leave behind all of these men and head for the Kingsroad after Winterfell. Robert had asked Ned to serve as Hand of the King the previous night, and Ned reluctantly accepted. The sudden death of Jon Arryn, the previous hand, brought the king to the cold north. _He must not know of my intentions._ A raven had arrived from Lysa Arryn, Cat’s sister, the previous night. She had written it in some sort of code that only Cat could decipher, out of fear of interception. She claimed that the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn after he had uncovered something incriminating. Although she was never explicitly mentioned, it was obvious that Lysa believed Cersei to be the culprit, and apparently so did Catelyn. Ned found it unlikely. _Cersei and Arryn would have given their lives for each other, but she is a woman of many secrets. Now the Kingslayer… he had no qualms about stabbing his king in the back, so why not the hand?_

Ned pushed these thoughts away as Robert spoke to him once again. “Should stop for some wenches on the way.” He jested. Ned laughed, considering the possibility of that not being a jest. They reminisced about Robert’s many concubines for a moment until. Although he found having them to be extremely dishonorable, Ned couldn’t help but laugh with Robert about them. He did continue to do so until the king brought up a subject that Ned had hoped to avoid at all costs. “What was the name of your common girl?” He asked, searching his mental archives for a name. “Aleena? No. Meryl?” It took Ned a moment to realize who he meant. “Your bastard’s mother.” Had he given up Jon Snow’s true mother, the king would probably have his head and Jon’s right then and there without any sort of clarification.

“Wylla.” Mutter Ned. Only a few had heard that name. Jon was not one of them.

Robert remained fixated on his eyes as if he expected Ned to say something. “You don’t want to speak of her, I understand,” bellowed the king, “but Seven Hells, Ned, stop being so hard on yourself. Countless Lords have fathered bastards with no hindrance. The Targaryens wed brother and sister! If something as atrocious as that was accepted, bastards certainly will! Especially if the tales of the Leech Lord’s bastard are truthful.” Lord Bolton has always been loyal to House Stark. Ned was always cold to Lord Bolton, despite not having a truly valid reason. He was a man of few words, very curt… but also cunning. Ned was always disgusted by their sigil, which was a horrible flayed man. _They gave up that practice long ago, but one hears tales of the Dreadfort and his bastard…_ Ned shifted his thoughts to his own bastard. _He will not be joining us at King’s Landing; perhaps I should speak of his mother with him before I depart._ It was as if Robert read his mind. “At least she gave you a good son, I presume? I did not notice him upon my entry or during the feast.” _I’m surprised you noticed anything during the feast._

Ned was at least willing to speak of Jon Snow, as he rarely did to anyone save for Arya. “Aye, he is a good man. Incorruptible, heart of gold.” A smile found its way onto his face as he spoke highly (and truthfully) of his bastard. It faded when he spoke again. “But I know not what to do with him. He is a man of seven and ten; he’ll be no lord. I fear his best chance may be on the Wall. Where he may be able to make a name for himself. But I would feel as if I was sending my own son to an icy death.”

“That’s because life on the wall is an icy death! Bring him along with us to King’s Landing.” Said Robert, without much thought as he bit off a large chunk off his cheese.

“What?”

“You heard me! He’s your son, and you tell me he’s incorruptible with a heart of gold. You know how hard it is to find someone like that? We could find something for him to do.” King’s Landing was often called a nest of vipers by those in the North. It was decided that Arya, Sansa, and Bran would accompany him. _They would be fine, but what of a bastard?_ Jon was certainly capable of looking after himself, but even Ned thought it questionable to bring him there.

“We could even legitimize him once we get there, Ned. Jon Stark of Winterfell! He’d like that, wouldn’t he?” Robert chuckled, as his hand shifted through the air with every word of Jon’s new name. _I wanted him to be Jon Stark my whole life, but Catelyn…_

“We could.” He said, wanting to move on from this discussion. He pondered how Jon would fit in, how the people of the Red Keep would view him, and his thoughts immediately went to Robert’s wife. “Cersei seems to have taken a liking to him.”

“Has she?” Robert chuckled. “Perhaps because he’s like you when you were young, and not the dreary lord you’ve become!” Robert wiped his mouth, and leaned forward. “Ned, I’ve asked you to leave behind your home and your family to come back with me. At least bring some of it with you to lighten the mood. And I command you not to send the poor boy to the wall. Let him have some joy. Let him take a woman, not those vows.”

Robert made a good case. Ned agreed after some thought, and they shuffled away to their tents. As he drifted off to sleep, Ned thought of Jon coming with him. _Perhaps he can help me. I’ll need someone I can trust with my investigation._ Ned did not sleep long before he was awoken by Robb. “There’s been a raven from Winterfell. We must return immediately. Get yourself ready, and I’ll inform you of the details.” He said to his drowsy father.

He only heard the words _Winterfell_ and _ready._ He did not yet question why, but he would happily leave these repulsive men to be with his family. Groggily, he rose like an undead, swapped his silk for leather, and splashed some water in his tired, ancient face. Strangely enough, he was one of the last men to rise and get ready. He mounted his mare, and cantered beside Robb, joining the crowd of whickering mounts. On his horse, Robb looked far more impressive than Ned could ever have dreamed of being. His beard and hair of red-brown had been cut to receive the royal party, but he still looked more a man than Ned at his age. He seemed even more lordly when he spoke. Neither the old gods nor the new could have prepared Ned for the raven’s message. Bran had fallen, his legs were broken and he had yet to wake. Arya and her direwolf attacked Prince Joffrey, and his Valyrian steel sword had gone missing. Arya fled and her wolf fled, but the Hound had brought her back. _The royal family shows up for two days, and I have already lost a child._

The herd travelled to Winterfell in silence. Ned spotted several tiny lights, which turned out to be men waiting to receive him. As he entered the keep, the men took his away his blade, and tended to his horse. He burst through the doors to the great hall, not waiting a moment for his cohorts, and found it filled with just about everyone who at least had some importance. The crowd instantaneously split as Ned made his presence and anger known. They revealed a linear path of black stone which led to the Cersei sitting in his lord’s seat, Joffrey clutching his mother’s arm.

Robert walked with him to Cersei, and she briefed them. “I find Joffrey’s tale of a planned assault from Arya and that butcher’s boy to be unlikely.” Clarified the Queen. The fact that love for her children did not blind her was reassuring to Ned.

Joffrey removed his bandaged hand from his mother’s grasp, and stared at her, agape. “But, mother, I-“

Ned thanked her silently for silencing him with her finger. “I highly doubt either of them possess the forethought to plan such a thing. However,” she reached out to pull her son’s hand closer, and stared the red mark on the bandage. “He was bitten with such ferocity, and his blade of valyrian steel is gone. I would not think he is guilty of either of those crimes.”

Robert took in the stories of both his son and Arya. Both told vastly different stories, which made it clear that Joffrey had lied. Sansa, who had supposedly witnessed the entire incident, was brought forth to bring truth to the matter. She simply stated that she did not know what happened, that it was all a blur, and that she could not pinpoint the blame. Part of him wanted her to tell the truth, and expose Joffrey for the lying craven he was, but he did respect that she did nothing to squander the possible alliance between Stark and Baratheon. He could not tell whether or not she had acted out of self-interest or for the future of the houses. Arya did not view Sansa’s tale the same way. She lunged at her sister, shouting “Liar!” over and over again. Ned restrained her, but did not strike her as most would in this situation. He had never struck his children or wife, and intended on keeping it that way.

Cersei stood up from Ned’s chair, and approached him. Every step was slow and agonizing, for he feared what she would say to him. He considered her his closest friend, but he had not seen her in seventeen years. For the first time in his life, he felt strangely intimidated by her. “I think we can safely say that the truth of this skirmish will remain a mystery. See to it that your daughter is disciplined, and I will do the same to my son.” She hissed, looking down at Arya with disgust before refocusing on Ned. Of all his children, the only one the Queen truly disliked was his younger daughter. He could not fathom why, as the two were shared many similarities. “As for the direwolf, has it been seized?”

“No. It’s unlikely we’ll cross paths with it.” He replied, hoping she would drop the subject.

“If we don’t have the wolf, then we may as well put an end to this shite!” Bellowed Robert.

“We have a w-“. The queen had lost her words. She appeared to be fixated on something at the other end of the hall. Apparently, he was the only one to notice as only he glanced back and spied Jon Snow.

“My legs are about ready to fall off! The longer you keep me from my bed, the angrier I get. Spit it out, woman!”

“Nothing.”

Robert’s departure signaled the departure of many others. Sansa stayed behind to thank the queen. “Thank you, your grace. You have shown me a great kindness, and I shall not forget it.”

She saw right through Sansa’s empty compliment. “And I hope you shan’t. Now leave me.” She waved her hand, signaling for her and several others who had remained to go about their business. She strode past both Ned and Jon without a glance. Joffrey followed closely with something of a limp, despite his injury being located on his hand.

He had asked Catelyn to speak to Arya, as he was far too tired to deal with anymore of this nonsense. Ned did not remember travelling to his chambers and slipping into his silk. He was so drowsy he even forgot his crippled son. Before he closed his eyes to drift off, he studied his wall, graced by the artistic ventures of his children. The one in the middle was Jon Snow’s interpretation of the Battle of the Trident. He gazed at the amateur depictions of himself and his best friend, and wondered why little Jon decided to give his father such dark hair.


	3. Red Son

**Jon III**

The ride to King’s Landing had taken close to one month.  It was a long and arduous trip that bored Jon. Robert’s frequent stops resulted in glacial progress. His loins ached for more of Cersei, but there was no time for that in the camp. Every now and then they could find time to eat or train together, but nothing more; the risk was too great. They had spent enough time together in Winterfell, which presumably raised some suspicion. Their moments together and playing with Arya were the only times when Jon felt anything besides boredom. Although, fear came to him when Ser Jaime decided to join them. When Jaime ate with them, he would speak with Cersei of matters that flew right over Jon’s head. Cersei pushed Jon when they trained, but she would consider his limits. Jaime cared not for his age or inexperience and made Jon feel as if he would die with one wrong move.

Occasionally, he would eat with his father and the king. Jon was amazed at how indifferent King Robert felt towards him. Ned tried to address the death of the butcher’s boy, but Robert would have none of it. He blamed the Hound, and the Hound blamed him. The two could not seem to have a conversation that did not end with Robert wishing death to some Targaryen girl and Ned suggesting restraint. Jon prayed every night for Bran. His fall was etched into Jon’s memory; he could not forget it, nor stop the overwhelming feelings of guilt no matter how hard he tried.

King’s Landing smelled of shit upon entry. The stench diminished as they approached the Red Keep, but never completely vanished until they actually reached the castle. If Winterfell could be described as green and brown covered in snow, King’s Landing was more or less yellow with an occasional splotch of white. The palm trees made it out to be a desert at times. The Red Keep was massive and, of course, red. Jon caught his glimpse of the Iron Throne as he and his family were escorted to the tower of the hand. His chambers were spacious and made his old room at Winterfell look like a storage closet. His legs had nearly given up on him and were bruised from continuous riding. He floated to his gargantuan bed and gave his thoughts to Cersei. For the first time, he considered the future of their love. They would never marry, and their love would only reveal itself in secret. He would never have Jon was unsure if he would accept being her concubine

He dreamt of a gloomy, barren battlefield, littered with gore and discarded weapons. Jon wore a suit of badly-damaged steel plate armour. Every limb of his was crippled, which is why he could not withstand being tugged. A suit of white pulled his left arm, while a suit of pure black tugged at his right. Jon could not tell if there were people hiding underneath the suits, for did not speak and had wicked, oily shadows. It seemed as if the two were about to rip his arms off before they were distracted by another suit. This one was a bloody red and gave off an unbearably-bright light. It held a stick, a flaming stick- no, a sword-

The armour slid down from the grey hill it stood on and lurched toward the trio. Jon turned his heads to see both suits cowering with fear at the sight of this bright light resembling a woman. She was burned from above by a great flame that Jon could not see. When the smoke had cleared, the lady was gone, but her sword remained on the ground. The black suit had stabbed the white one in the back, causing it fall. The black suit knelt down to his level, and lifted his chin. Jon only now realized that he did not have a helmet.

He shut his eyes, preparing for his death, but when he opened them, he was back in his bed. “Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?” A familiar voice whipped his head to his right. Cersei laid there, her hair flowing over his bedsheets like a golden waterfall. He shot up with panic, about to scold her, but she shushed him. “You’ve slept so long,” She raised her head. “Your sisters are off touring the Keep, and Ned is… I actually do not know what he’s doing. There’s no one here save for that fat guard you’ve got posted out there. I told him that I needed to get you for squiring, and he did not bat an eye.”

She remained on his bed, laughing while he frantically searched for his doublet and dressed himself. He was still unfamiliar with his chambers. “Is Ser Sandor angry with me?” he asked, sliding his pants up.

“I only informed him you’d be squiring for him a few minutes ago. You’d best hurry.”

He did, and they made for the training grounds when he was ready. Before they pushed open the great oaken doors, she quickly pecked his cheek. “Relax,” Advised Cersei. “You’re likely to make him angry by merely having your shoulders that high rather than showing up late.” She corrected his posture.

“How am I to relax?” chided Jon. “You do remember who you’re handing me off to?’

“He won’t hurt you.”

“And how is it you know that? He killed Micah!”

“Following his King’s orders,” she added. “I’ve known him for a very long time. He knows as well as I do that I did not bring you here to be butchered on your first day. Besides, it seems like you’ve confused Sandor with his brother. He’s actually butchered his squires.” She could still see the doubt in his eyes. She mended it by pulling him closer. “Just do as he says, and you will be fine.”

Cersei used a single hand, and the hulking, wooden door swung open. The outside light nearly blinded Jon, as he shielded himself. “Is this the boy? Gods, how’s he to serve me if he can’t even keep his fuckin’ eyes open?” Although he had never heard it before, Jon knew the raspy voice to be The Hound’s. It was confirmed when he removed his hand only to see the two-faced man with straw for hair. _Is he truly at fault for Micah’s death?_

The Queen unsuccessfully held back her laughter. “He’s more than capable for this. I can vouch for his prowess.”

“Right then,” he walked off to a cheap, wooden table. A spear and grey armour sat atop the wood. “You can start right away by getting these ready for the tourney tomorrow.”

“Tourney?” Jon looked down as he asked. He had not heard of any tournaments, and no one had ever mentioned such to him.

The Hound’s head flew back as he roared with laughter, or in this case, barked. “Some friend and father you got! It was a sudden decision, but a joust is being held to commemorate your father becoming Hand of the King.”

Cersei flushed when he glared at her. “Have a grand time.” She said, as she slowly made her way back into the castle. Jon spent his session perfecting Sandor’s armour for tomorrow’s joust. The metal reeked, so it needed to be washed. It was dented, so he need to undent it. Sandor’s spear was massive, and Jon could not fathom someone was able to lift such a thing. He wondered is Cersei possessed the strength, and then asked The Hound if Cersei was to compete in the joust.

“Fuck no,” He laughed. “The Queen grew out of that shite before you could even walk, boy.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I did, aye, but her boy demands I compete to represent him or something like that.” Jon was amused by the notion of Joffrey jousting. He imagined him barely managing to stay on his horse, and then getting skewered by his opponent. The rest of Jon’s squiring session consisted solely of pouring wine for Sandor and listening to him ramble on how all of the other knights were cravens, about how much of a fool Robert Baratheon was, and how the upcoming tournament was a waste of time.

“Even your father has no interest in it.” He stated, his breath stinking of wine.

“He never did care much for fighting…” said John. Come to think of it, John had never seen his father joust, or even fight. He lugged that massive blade, Ice, everywhere he went, but never used it unless he was needed to behead someone. He was old and matured so it was a small wonder why he had given up on such things.

“He’s a good man, that Eddard Stark,” said Sandor. “Good, but naïve.”

It may not have been directed at him, but the words hurt Jon. He viewed his father as nothing short of a paragon of virtue. _How can he label my father as such?_

“He’s not.”

“Your father is the type who places his honour above all else. He scorns Jaime Lannister for slaying the Mad King, but where would we be now had he not done that?  He acts like we must all be perfect, honourable, pansy men. Men like that exist in songs, not in our world. And he’s a bloody fool if he believes himself to be that man straight from the songs.” Jon wanted to object, but was dumbfounded. “And I know he’s got a motive for coming all the way down here. Not even Robert could pry the Warden of the North and half of his children away from his home easily.”

“What do you think he’s planning?”

“If you don’t know, then how would I?” The Hound shrugged. “But I’d bet my life it’s got something to do with the Lannisters. And I wouldn’t trifle with them, be it the Prince, the Kingslayer, or even the Queen.” He snorted.

Jon knew that Cersei had loved his father back during the rebellion. Given their past relationship and the fact that he fathered a bastard, it was very possible he came for the Queen. He wondered if Cersei only came to him because he reminded her of his father and could not help but feel that she had purposely sunk her claws into him with some ulterior motive. The thought haunted him until he his dreams took hold of him that night. He dreamt of the joust that was to take place on the morrow. He was seated on a bench facing a circular track for the horses. The stands were completely empty, and Jon thought he was alone until two horses appeared from seemingly nowhere on the track. His father sat atop a lightly-armoured brown mare, and his lover rode a white one. They raced around the track, crashing into each other every time they neared, but neither would ever fall.

Readying for the tourney proceeding as Jon had expected. He had managed to wake himself instead of relying on his Queen. He washed himself, wore the black doublet that had been laid on his table, and broke his fast with his family. The servants brought them bacon, eggs, bread, plums, and lemon cakes. Jon had never been offered this many choices. He decided to have a bit of everything. The lemon cakes were placed near Sansa, as she had no doubt requested them. When they were younger, Jon had teased her saying she would get fat if she frequently ate lemon cakes. She did not take it as intended, as Jon did not eat with her, or the rest of his family for a very long time after that. Catelyn even barked at Robb for laughing. He considered making the same jest upon seeing her slender arm, covered by a blue cloth, reach for another cake, considering the possible ramifications.

“Are you ready?” Asked Ned. “Big day for you.” He actually seemed genuine.

“I just fetch him his things,” Replied Jon. “Not terribly exciting.”

“Don’t just underestimate the value of supportive roles. They play an important part as well, even if they do not battle.” It seemed that way the more Jon thought about it. “Anyway, how was the first day?”

“He treated me well.” He decided to leave it at that. The Hound’s opinion of Ned was the last thing anyone needed to hear. Ned was not pleased when Cersei told him of her plans to send him off with Sandor Clegane. They quarreled, but Cersei remained stalwart in her decision. He had seen his father argue this way with Catelyn, but even she was more flexible than the Queen.

“Father got me a sword teacher” Arya broke in. “I get lessons for needle every day.” She tugged at Jon’s arm.

“You’ll have to show me what you’ve learned then!” He was happy that she was learning something beyond swatting air, but sad that he could not teach her himself. He had planned on doing it in his free time, but it was too late for that now.

Sansa said nothing. The direwolf she was forced to leave behind still saddened her, but Jon and Arya had gotten over Ghost and Nymeria.

Ned Gestured for the servants take the leftovers away, and they did it without any delay. Sansa and Arya made for the door, but Jon was pulled aside by his father. It was not until now that he noticed a peculiar pin on his doublet. “Take your sisters to the tourney, have them seated, and find your knight. I’ll pbring the girls back at nightfall”

“Where will you be?” Asked Jon. The tourney was being held in his honour, after all. Not even he would be the type to miss such things.

“Robert is merely using my anointment as an excuse to hold a tourney. It does not matter whether or not I am there.”

“But where will you be?”

His father sighed before answering. “I was hoping to spare you the details until a better time, but I need to investigate something regarding the Lannisters.”

“Why?” Jon tried his best not to let his concern show. “Have they done something?”

“Possibly. I will share my findings with you when I return.”

Jon wanted to inquire further, but it would only waste time and make Ned suspicious. The staircase seemed eternal as he took his sisters down it. He wondered what the Lannisters could have possibly done to grab his father’s interest. _It was probably Joffrey… or Jaime,_ he thought to himself. He attempted to avoid thoughts of Cersei’s guilt, but that proved futile. Fear struck him, causing him to stagger. _Does he suspect one of them was involved in Bran’s fall?_

Jon prayed that Ned did not. He prayed for the first time in years.

**Gwynevere I**

“Come on, you cheap fuck!” Blurted out Gwynevere. She did not mean for those words to escape her mind, as Fat Man was short of temperament. He leaned forward, and struck her head, removing dirt and grease from her dark hair. Hatefully, she looked up at her only source of income.

Fat Man had earned his name from being, well, fat. He was a grotesque thing, looking like any drunken, hateful, old lout. He rarely wore anything to cover his top. His face was ridden with warts and dirt. She, and apparently everyone else in the Ratways, did not know what his true name. Gwynevere never cared to ask him and felt that the question would only anger him. She could never truly fathom how this man was one of the most successful traders in Yunkai. He owned an establishment in the Ratways, and often visited, giving tasks to all kind of peasants, mostly children, and paying them a miniscule amount for their work. With all of the money he owned, she did not understand why Fat Man even bothered with kids who slept on sandstone among the rats. He once told Gwyn that he needed to spend his money somehow, as he could barely contain the stacks he had collected in his vault back at his home. Gwyn believed that he only hired her because she was a cheap proxy. The thought of stealing his gold had crossed her mind, but it quickly passed when she considered the security that guarded his gold… and where Fat Man kept the Gold he took with him.

“Ten marks is all you get! You should appreciate my kindness for even that!”

_Fuck you_ , she dared not say what she wanted. “I nearly get myself raped and killed doing your dirty work, and you can only spare me ten fuckin’ gold coins?”

He raised his hands at her, not to strike, but to point. “What about the gift I gave you on your sixteenth name day?”

“It was only three, even less than what you’re giving me now.” She rolled her eyes.

“I could’ve gone to the guards and gotten this shit sorted out the moment it happened, but instead I came to you! You depend on me. Without me, you’d be sellin’ yourself in that brothel. Just for your continued bitchery, I’m only offering five marks now. Take it or leave it.”

Instantaneously, a grotesque hand swept five of the promised coins off the counter that had been built into the wall. Fat Man, understandably, did not want the grimy peasants of the Ratways inside of his shop. _Didn’t even realize the fat fuck could move that quickly_ , Gwyn thought to herself. Scornfully, she slammed her palm on the wood, which stung, and pushed the coins into a small sack. The dim torches helped her navigate at night. She felt like a helpless child as she limped along the stony paths of Yunkai. She hated the city. It was too yellow, it was too hot, it smelled like shit, and everyone treated her like shit. She had not yet assessed the damage she had taken from her earlier skirmish and Fat Man’s recent discipline.

She knew she had reached her destination of shit alley by the smell; she could not bear it at first, but she was now numb to it. Shit Alley was where everyone who did not own a chamber pot went on with their business. Gwyn found herself a corner behind a group of tall vases. She undid her breeches, let them fall, and squatted to make water. Most did it in plain sight, but Gwynevere did not like to be watched, especially since she was a pretty girl (by her own standards) with emerald-green eyes. A pretty girl with emerald-green eyes covered in grime. Once she had finished, she went to the docks, which were usually barren at night save for a few workers who never seemed to notice her presence. She removed her breeches, and this time her linen, and quietly slid into the cold water, fully submersing herself. It was almost as if she could see the grime leaving her. She hoped no one saw her climb back up to the wood, examine herself, and redress herself in rags, as the moonlight had illuminated her pale, muscular body. She had several bruises lining her left arm and waist, and a cut underneath her breasts.

Like Clockwork, she made for home. It was a series of paths and rooms where several homeless children had taken refuge. It was a sort of unwritten code among all men and women of Yunkai not to enter or disturb the claustrophobic children’s district. Something would occasionally be stolen, but no child was ever attacked. Gwyn was greeted by several young ones, no older than six or seven years old, as she entered. She ignored them all. Her shelter was a former tavern shared with roughly fifteen other girls, some the same age as her, some younger. She immediately made for the storage, and took the last bandage to cover her new wound. The other girls, Mara, and Ciri greeted her. They inquired about her current state. She ignored them as she threw her coins and dagger to the ground, and collapsed into a deep sleep on a pile of rags. She dreamt of a great castle. Her wounds were gone, her hair and body were clean, and she was dressed in a blood-red gown. She dreamt of exploring the halls, bathing in the light that penetrated the great windows. She dreamt of eating with lords and ladies at great feasts. She dreamt of handsome knights dancing with her. She dreamt of home.

Sunlight piercing through slits in the walls had reached Gwynevere’s eyes in the morning, waking her. She splashed some water on her face and searched for her gold. Mara sat behind the dilapidated counter, organizing all of the funds that remained. It went exclusively to food. Gwyn was the only one who could reliably amass gold and she did not make enough to feed a whole group of growing girls.

“We need more than this,” said Mara. “It’s just not enough. We’ll starve if we don’t get more.”

“I am trying. Nothing is stopping any of you from going out and getting us some gold, you know.” Pointed out Gwyn.

“I am needed here to look after the little ones.”

“So you and everyone else say. Do we really need five of you cunts stationed here for these kids?”

“Not all of us are capable of being killers like you.”

“I kill because it’s the only thing I’m good at and it pays. Surely, you can go and find work more suitable to your talents.” Gwynevere scanned Mara’s freckled face. She was pale as a ghost and had long, unkempt, red hair. “You’ve got the cheekbones to be a good sword swallower.” _Breasts could use some work, though_ , she thought to herself.

Mara ignored her crudeness and inquired about the recent payment. “So who was the man, and was his life worth only five measly marks?”

“He was a thief who made the unwise decision of stealing from Fat Man. Lucky for him, I watched it happen, and the big man himself sent me after the bastard. He swiped three sacks right from the counter and dashed away.”

“Did you fight him alone?”

“By the time I caught up to him, his friends joined and beat me down. Bent me over a table and threatened to fuck me ‘til I bled. Grabbed hold of a lone dagger and got lucky with my cuts on all three of them.” Gwyn made a slashing motion.

“Be safer next time.”

“If I had taken the time to do that, I would be dead.”

“Sounds like you,” laughed Mara. “Does he have any other outstanding work for you?’

“No. I have to check with him today, not that I want to.” Gwyn mumbled, retreating to her makeshift bed.

Mara approached her and leaned on a cracked pillar. “I haven’t been here as long as you or the other girls. I don’t know if you’ve already mentioned it to them, but what’s your endgame?” She asked, playing with a strand of her fiery hair.

“My what?”

“Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? I assume you don’t want to just stay here killing people in the Ratways for tiny amounts of gold.”

“I do enjoy my killing quite a bit,” corrected Gwyn. “But I hope to take that elsewhere. Westeros is where I want to be.”

“You’re from Westeros, I take it?” Inquired Mara.

“My accent didn’t immediately give it away?”

“What awaits you in Westeros?”

“My father. Great lord in the north.” She had been told explicitly not to divulge her true parentage to anyone when she had first arrived in Essos. The only people she was able to speak to were peasants. Did it matter if she told them? Would they even believe her?

“Sure, sure.” Mocked Mara. “What about your mother?”

“A noble lady in the South,” said Gwyn, seething. “I have plans for her as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> Very sorry for the unexpected hiatus. I was extremely busy and made glacial progress on this third chapter. I'll try not to let it happen again, but I make no promises!
> 
> Also, no Ned or Cersei bits here because those would just consist of them mucking around. Besides, I wanted to introduce someone new.

**Author's Note:**

> Expect comic book references in the future.


End file.
